


Submitting to the Metal

by Dame_Syrup (mary_pseud)



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Cybermen - Freeform, Kinkmeme, Medical Kink, Other, cyberconversion, forced upgrading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_pseud/pseuds/Dame_Syrup
Summary: For a kinkmeme prompt: "Any character (or an OC if you want). Cyberconversion as the ultimate subby thrill."





	Submitting to the Metal

Lisa Hallett fought.

While the rest of Torchwood meekly lined up and handed over their weapons to the metal creatures that had materialised in their midst – they were the ghosts apparently, Cybermen suddenly solid and real and deadly – Lisa took the alien vibration spike she had been testing, and went on the attack.

She was fast and strong, running long-legged up behind the invaders and stabbing them in the back of the head. She ran fast and hard, exulting in her fight, knowing that it was probably for nothing. But at least she would die fighting. She looked as she ran, getting quick snatches of ruined offices and broken equipment and dead bodies, but she didn't see anyone that she knew well, either living or dead.

They finally caught her when the last Cyberman she stabbed fell backwards on top of her. She tried to crawl out from under the frozen thing, but it was too heavy. She watched her dark hands scrabbling futilely against the tile, even as the tile shivered under the oncoming footsteps of more creatures.

They hauled her upright, paying no attention to her cries of pain – something was broken inside her, she thought. Maybe a rib. Two of them held her in hands like monstrous parodies of human hands, cold and unyielding on her body, and turned her to face a third.

They all looked the same: that was part of the horror. Bodies like suits of armour, heads like blank skulls tipped with metal bars. But still there was a ghost of something human about them...

One of the Cybermen holding her spoke, in a quivering robot voice. "She is a rogue element. She is incompatible. She will be deleted."

"Incorrect," said the Cyberman facing her. "She will be upgraded."

"We have insufficient materials," the other one said.

"We will use native materials. We need to experiment on upgrading all humans on this world, including rogue elements."

It leaned close to her, round eye sockets seeming to stare. "You will be upgraded. You will be improved."

She spat in its face, wishing she could spit out her life with it in sheer contempt.

It paid no notice. "Take her to the experimental upgrade room."

 

* * *

 

She fought against their grip, but it was useless. They held her and moved her like a puppet, no matter how she kicked and screamed and twisted. They took her to a room with a metal table, and her screams ran out into silence in sheer terror at the sight of the robotic thing that hovered over her, every limb tipped with a blade or a clamp or a suction hose.

The thing remained still as they fastened her to the table with cold clamps that held her so tightly that she could not move in any direction. They removed her clothes in the process, but there was nothing of lust or even the desire to frighten in their methodical shredding and tearing of cloth. They just needed her naked.

A part of her mind thought of old and well-worn fantasies, but this was nothing like those. This was as remorseless and cold as a school of cruising sharks, and they would pay no heed to her or her wishes.

Something came down on a spindly thin metal limb above her. It was a helmet of sorts, a sort of rounded copy of a Cyberman helmet, but as it peeled itself open and started to envelop her skull, she saw it was lined with needles. Short needles, long needles, thick and curved or hair-fine and branching, gleaming and sharp and waiting to embrace her.

The metal entered her, and everything changed.

(A subroutine noted that the first step of processing, the overriding of the meat self's attachment to flesh, had begun, and ordered more components to be assembled within range. The Cybermen had long practice in this procedure, even adapted to use native machinery, and knew that rerouting the brain's pleasure centres was essential if the mind was not to die before it could be reborn).

She twisted against her bonds, but now it was in revulsion. How she despised this weak, inefficient body she had lived in! She craved to be free, to be strong. The touches of the instruments were ecstasy, and she gasped in delight as she saw what she was to become. Invincible, invulnerable.

She accepted as well that it would not be an instantaneous process. She would have to be upgraded slowly, her body discarded piece by piece. Unnatural as it seemed, some procedures would even strengthen her original form, temporarily.

She didn't care. She was hungry for more. Let them strengthen her arms and legs; she knew that she would discard them, discard everything, and become one with the metal.

She screamed in sobbing delight as they flayed her breasts and implanted shielding, every nerve alive with irresistible sensations. Her pelvis was locked immobile as well, but when her legs were spread by the clamps and the adjuster machines bent over her crotch, she felt like she was inside a volcano, pouring full of molten power, running into her and filling her, searing and sealing her into its heart, making her a part of it.

She was dazzled by her future, enchanted as any princess in a lover's arms, and when the machine over her suddenly faltered and slowed she nearly cried. No, she wanted to say, keep cutting me. Cut me up, cut me away, pare me down to the finest fibre of humanity and wrap me in the metal that will give me immortality.

Instead there was a hideous tearing shriek around her, of machines being broken by some unknown force. The Cybermen suddenly were pulled aside, swept away through plastic curtains and plaster walls as though both were paper. No, no, come back; don't leave me...like this...

She could see fire in the corner of her eye. Her improved senses could measure its temperature; calculate how long it would take to smother her primitive lungs. If she could not finish the upgrade process, then surely it would be better to die here. Better to die than to be human.

And then there were hands on her body, the revolting sensation of flesh on flesh. Someone hauled at her, shoved her upright, and she found herself starring into a human face.

Flabby, disgusting in its loose skin and weak eyes, inefficient and putrid. It looked at her, its skin flushing with circulatory fluid, and her mind suddenly came up with a name. Ianto.

He was Ianto. Ianto Jones. She knew him, in that fumbling way that was the best that two entities of flesh could know one another. His arms had held this body, his bonds on her skin, his fingers and tongue driving her to the pleasures that were but a shadow of what the metal had to offer. And when his hands went back to the clamps, she calculated how long they had been lovers, just how weak she would need to appear, how she could persuade him to bring her what she needed.

He hauled her upright, staggered with her through the flames. She could have tossed him out of the building like a doll, but instead she let herself stumble in his embrace.

He would help her.

Then she would help him.

They would be upgraded. Together. Forever.

 


End file.
